


Personal Business

by corpsefluid



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other, Scat, ignoring facts for the sake of a story, really it is just pooping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 04:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corpsefluid/pseuds/corpsefluid
Summary: The glamorous world of pooping in the field.For prompt #184 of the 2018 supply drop.





	Personal Business

**Author's Note:**

> #184 Ocelot takes a shit, either in a squat toilet, or outside, and is very embarrassed by it.
> 
> Fic or art is fine by me. MGS1 era, a bit before or after. He's such a snooty tightass that using a squat toilet is so ~not proper~ but he's gotta. Same for outside. The shit will be quite big, but realistic. Would also be up for perhaps someone walking in/up on him, maybe trying to get a hold of him over codec not knowing what's he's doing for extra humiliation.

Liquid’s timing was the absolute worst.

Ocelot had provided a perfectly feasible, rational timeline to work with for their little uprising and right at the last minute Liquid decides to accelerate some aspects such as killing Miller.

Obviously that part was going to involve a lot of trudging through snow in the middle of fucking nowhere, that bit couldn’t be changed, and honestly Ocelot didn’t mind the snow all that much.

What Ocelot minded was that he’d scheduled some time to himself to handle certain aspects of his drug regime and Liquid only deigned fit to tell Ocelot any of this new plan the day he wanted Ocelot heading out to sit in a sniper’s perch for who fucking knew how long, after Ocelot had dosed himself with a laxative to do battle with the ongoing issue of opioid constipation. Something which was definitely only getting worse with age.

The trip on the chopper was fine, the hike to his position after everyone had split was when he really started to feel the mix of his over-full bowels and the prescription tier laxatives, neither of which particularly agreed with any athleticism at all, let alone together.

The way Ocelot’s gut were grumbling made it obvious there was going to be a pit stop on his trip well before the pressure truly started to set in and he was looking for a suitable spot of cover before that pressure had turned into letting slip a fart every other step. As badly as he needed to take that shit, it wouldn’t do to get ambushed while he was doing it. This was still technically a mission, after all.

_Technically._

There was an argument for calling it a personal call, if there wasn’t an entire team, and Liquid hadn’t revised everything to try to make Ocelot tip his hand. As if a little inconvenience was going to make that happen.

Eventually Ocelot just picked a tree to crouch under.

It wasn’t the best option, but this was the wrong season for good cover. At least here he had a solid chance of spotting anyone or anything that might sneak up on him well before they spotted him and worked out he was anything other than a hunter. Ocelot put the rifle aside, and with his revolver still handy, dug a hole in the snow. The dirt was too frozen to go any deeper than that though, it’d have to do.

Keeping one hand on his holster, Ocelot undid his belt, dropped trou, and squatted over the fresh hole in the snow.

Ocelot’s stomach grumbled unfortunately loudly as he let loose a series of quiet but putrid little farts, he could feel his guts shifting hard as they tried to move the build up. It wasn’t quite there yet, but like hell was he dealing with this once he was in position and couldn’t just leave the inevitably horrible mess.

The nanomachines interrupted by beeping shrilly in his ear to indicate an incoming call.

Ocelot himself grumbled bitterly this time, checking the frequency first to see if he could get away with just not picking up. There was no luck there though, it was Liquid and thus a frequency he actually needed to answer currently, so Ocelot sighed and tapped his neck to enable the connection.

“Why aren’t you in position?”

Ocelot winced at the sensation of Liquid growling directly into his ear that the codec created, instinctively forcing his sphincter to clench, pretty immediately putting a halt to his current efforts despite having no desire to be stuck crouched in the snow getting his bare arse frozen any longer than he had to.

“I needed to take a small detour boss, I’ll be there soon.” Ocelot closed the line, hoping to shut down further questioning.

Of course Liquid called back immediately. Ocelot toyed with the idea of ignoring him, but the shrill beeping was only going to continue until he answered Liquid.

“Why are you crouching behind that tree, Ocelot?”

“I told you I’ll be in position shortly, now keep your binoculars on your objective boss.”

“Are you taking a shit Ocelot?”

Ocelot prefaced his response with a rude gesture in the general direction of Liquid’s position, “ _yes,_ now fuck off. I’ll be in position on time if you stop interrupting me.”

Ocelot cut the connection _again._

There was a small hiss of of foul gas escaping as Ocelot bore down on the pressure in his guts. While more than ready to evacuate, it was slow going just from how long he’d been backed up and the way his usual drugs inhibited the mobility of his intestines.

Just as it felt like things were starting to open up a little, Liquid called back.

“What?” Ocelot snapped to the codec, before taking a deep breathe of the cold air and repeating slightly calmer. “What.”

“Why didn’t you go before we left?”

“Because you changed the entire timeline for this part of the plan.” Ocelot certainly wouldn’t have made squatting in the snow his first choice to relieve himself. “And I’m not nearly flexible enough to do this while in the perch.” That may have been a lie, but Liquid _did not_ need to know that.

“Wolf manages just fine.”

“Wolf is less than half my age and gets called on to do this more than once or twice a year.” Sure Ocelot kept his skills sharp, but nine times out of ten if he was on the scope it was for a quick kill, or providing some emergency cover. “If you call again, and it’s not because you see the target or you spotted an ambush, I’m going to head back to base right now and leave you stranded out here.”

Ocelot closed the connection on Liquid for a third time to hopefully resume focus on the monumental shit pressing against his arsehole. He had no doubt Liquid was not keeping his binoculars to himself, but neither seeing nor hearing him at least let Ocelot pretend he wasn’t.

It was probably the closest he was going to get to real privacy at this point with laxatives pushing down on more than a weeks worth of opioid constipation, making the situation at hand a fair bit more urgent than it would have been under other circumstances.

He’d already put off dealing with it long enough that the first turd was dry, hard, and more than thick enough to be uncomfortable. It stretched him wide open for a few painful inches before the rest of it abruptly dropped out of him into the frozen dirt.

Ocelot’s stomach grumbled rudely as his intestines shoved the next lump of shit into position. While this one was a bit softer, it was still quite thick and dry, and vividly reminding him of just how backed up he’d been when he’d resorted to chemical solutions. The steaming log was touching dirt well before it broke off, getting steadily softer as Ocelot’s bowels shifted through to the more recent waste filling them. When it finally finished, there was a few hopeful seconds where it seemed as if he was done, then a deep cramp proceeded to sucker punch his intestines

There was a brief, but unfortunately loud, gut-wrenching fart, and another unreasonably hard, thick turd trying to push it’s way out. Though not nearly as easily as the first, not even having the consideration to be over relatively quickly once most of it was out.

It was more of a birth than taking a shit with the amount of effort and grunting involved.

But when it was done, _oh~_

Now Ocelot felt well and truly empty, not to mention significantly lighter in bother the literal and metaphorical sense. Actually standing up and seeing the actual size of the pile he left behind, it was more than a little understandable.

That last lump was too solid to bend or collapse and was just left standing on the top of the half-frozen shit pile like a disgusting obelisk.

He really needed to stay on top of the side effects of the drugs better than this, but rather than dwell on it Ocelot kicked snow over his mess until it was mostly the same as the rest of the snow covered ground. Maybe a little disturbed, but the depressions would disappear soon enough with the on-going snow fall covering the rest of his tracks.

Liquid hadn’t called again, but if Ocelot wasn’t going to kill someone today he might have had to worry about his stress levels.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I managed to hit the prompt 100%, but I hope I hit enough points it's still enjoyable.
> 
> All that said, that feel when you've been constipated so long you start actively hating other people for their ability to poop.


End file.
